


what you thought you have (you do not have)

by hailholylight



Series: those white flowers [2]
Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Catholic Imagery, Communication, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Humanized Cars (Pixar Movies), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Road Trips, Swimming Pools, Thomasville, Voyeurism, body horror elements at certain points, descriptions of violence, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailholylight/pseuds/hailholylight
Summary: They didn’t embrace often, even behind closed doors, having not fallen into casual touches, having not even talked about that night since they had woken up the morning after-- and then one day turned into another and there was too much weight between them to bring it up. Lightning didn’t want to be the one to bring it up if Doc was trying to forget about it, if it was too embarrassing a memory to keep hold of.It would’ve been awkward if they didn’t have the racing to focus on; the early morning drives, the late-night ice baths-- things Lightning wouldn’t have been able to dedicate himself to without Doc.
Relationships: Doc Hudson/Lightning McQueen
Series: those white flowers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830061
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [objectlesson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/gifts), [goldenurn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenurn/gifts).



Lightning felt alive on the track. When he hit his stride, became nothing but breath and heat-- It was everything good about being alive. It was transcending his physical being while being firmly rooted in the material, surrounded by reminders of his impermanence. Surrounded by forty other cars, weaving in and out, inches apart but somehow, by some miracle, never touching, just like Doc had said months ago. It was a tangible type of magic. 

There was something to be said about leaving everyone in the dust, though-- existing entirely on his own, seeing nothing but the track in front of him. Even in these small-time races, it was a precious feeling, something Lightning wanted to put in a bottle and sell. Doc was exactly right when he said Lightning would never get enough of it. 

Lightning hadn’t slept that night, threw up before the race because the excitement and the passion felt too much to carry around in his limited body. But there was nowhere else he’d rather be. There was nothing else he was made for like he was made for racing. There was no other calling. 

The sun was setting, and the track was cooling, and everyone was hitting the most perfect, heart-pounding momentum. Lightning had a one-track mind as the number of laps-to-go dripped from twenty to ten, from ten to five. His mind was clearer than it ever had been, even as a car closed in on his side, another on his bumper, even as the setting sun was spread out before him as a challenge, as a threat. Lightning had one thing on his mind. 

He got over the finish line seven seconds before the second-place racer, and it was as though he were floating outside of himself, his spirit lingering on his skin like dew. It was surreal. It was heaven. He could hear Doc in his earpiece, whooping and hollering, calling Lightning’s full name-- And when Lightning got out of the car, he could do nothing but throw himself into Doc’s arms. 

Doc always stiffened at touches like these, instinct taking over, but it passed just as quickly as it overtook him and soon enough he was holding Lightning in front of the world. They didn’t embrace often, even behind closed doors, having not fallen into casual touches, having not even talked about that night since they had woken up the morning after-- and then one day turned into another and there was too much weight between them to bring it up. Lightning didn’t want to be the one to bring it up if Doc was trying to forget about it, if it was too embarrassing a memory to keep hold of. 

It would’ve been awkward if they didn’t have the racing to focus on; the early morning drives, the late-night ice baths-- things Lightning wouldn’t have been able to dedicate himself to without Doc. 

Without Doc, Lightning would’ve burnt himself out racing as often as he did, caring more about the feeling of freedom and the acceleration of his tires than his body, his mind, any sort of proper training. Doc kept his head on straight, even if Doc was also the biggest distraction Lightning ever had. 

Lightning, much to his self-hatred, was still completely gone on Doc. It was near impossible to hide from himself, the way Doc’s hands felt like fire when he helped stretch Lightning out before and after practice, the way his eyes lingered on Lightning like he was committing some sort of awful moral sin. Especially after that night, there was no amount of self-denial that would cure him. And it drove him crazy having to keep a lid on all of it while Doc looked at him, touched him, said his name in his earpiece like that. 

But, despite everything, Doc was still here. He was still trying to make Lightning a better racer, he was still staying in the same room with him, still wanting to be around him. And Lightning wasn't one to ruin a good thing, so he waited. He circled around Doc, waiting for the day it all fell into place.

Lightning crashed the moment they got to the hotel room, striped carpet, bright blue covers on the two queen beds, wood paneling on the bottom half of the walls. On the other side of a sliding glass door was a pool, complete with lounge chairs and tables with umbrellas, all of it some hazy green. Lightning had this idea, whenever they came into a new hotel, that he would spend his nights relaxing poolside with Doc. He always ended up being too tired, his head feeling like it was full of smoke and dust, but he never stopped picturing it. 

Doc sat on the edge of his own bed, Lightning could imagine his eyelids low how they got even as he laid face down, the comforter smelling like cheap, dry soap. Doc kicked off his shoes-- Lightning could hear the tumble of them, then Doc grabbing them and moving them neatly under his bed. He chuckled, a thread of playful amusement in his voice. "You alright, champ?"

Lighting made a grunt of a sound in response, and he could feel how Doc's smile widened. He wanted it against his neck, how it had been before, how Lightning had thought of it a million times after, how Lightning couldn't stop thinking about it being. The marks on his skin had long since faded, but Lightning still remembered how precious they felt-- They were signs of life, and were consequently as precious as a newborn. 

"Y'know," Doc said, rising from the bed with a small sigh, "You're gonna need a lot more stamina than that if you're wantin' to go after the Piston Cup." Lightning took note of the drawl in his words. It always came out when they were in dirt-south towns like these. 

Lightning turned his head to look up at him. He had that strange sort of happily amused expression on his face, exactly how Lightning had pictured it. He looked so at ease lately, despite the stress of training, despite every string of tension and awkwardness between them-- He looked so peaceful. Lightning never knew quite what to make of it. He was driving himself crazy overthinking every single touch and glance that passed between them, and Doc was over here looking like he'd just found enlightenment. 

He rolled over on his back, spreading his arms out on either side of him. "Won't matter, grandpa, if you keep me from racing for the Piston Cup until I'm 'ready'." He sighed and closed his eyes, his voice a little huffy, a little discontented, but still affectionate. 

It was hard to genuinely get mad at Doc these days. Especially as he stood so close to him, now at the foot of his bed. "How do you think I'm deciding that?" he asked, taking off Lightning's thin racing shoe, then his other one. Lightning's traitor of a heart picked up. His mind wandered to other places Doc's hands had been. 

"Dunno," Lightning said, his voice steady despite his heartbeat, "Bet you're waiting for the _stars_ to line up, the planets to align. Some big ol' sign from the universe." 

Doc's hands were gentle, next reaching for his socks. Lightning didn't know why he willingly engaged with so much of him or how he did it so easily, as if there wasn't some massive weight on the both of them, some shadow that haunted them. Doc's hands brought such life to Lightning-- they seemed personally responsible for Lightning's blood rising and falling through his veins-- but also brought a small act of dying. And maybe that was why they avoided conversations about what all these glances and feelings meant. They couldn't-- They _shouldn't_ mean anything.

Lightning was naive for wanting Doc as badly as he knew he did, felt stupid for thinking that he was _waiting_ for anything. Doc was able to get by just fine, and all Lightning wanted was _more_. He didn't want Doc's fingertips, he wanted to swallow him whole-- He wanted to open his chest and make Doc crawl inside it. Lightning felt both shockingly empty and bursting at the seams whenever Doc made contact. It was enough to kill him. 

"You should shower, kid. Maybe we can go swimming after, since you don't have to be up early tomorrow."

Lightning groaned and rolled to his side, effectively preventing Doc from touching him further, from making this worse than it already was. He stayed still for a moment, staring out the glass door. The pool water lapped against the sides with the same incessant yearning that lapped at Lightning, that swirled inside him, made him sick. The tension between them in that small moment seemed to spark, to sputter, to _almost_ come to life-- Lightning roused and went to lock himself in the bathroom.

He hadn't quite learned that there was no water hot enough or cold enough to wash away the effect Doc had on him; he kept turning the temperature from one extreme to the other, each change coming with a flash of Doc's hands, either a memory or a wish-- Lightning couldn't tell. It was karma either way.

He scrubbed his skin raw with that shitty hotel soap out of anger, out of disappointment, out of mourning. It was supposed to be different now. He was supposed to be riding off into the sunset with Doc by his side, sharing more than they did, falling asleep wrapped around each other. But they _weren't_. They existed only in the smallest of intimacies, all of them carrying a certain deniability. And Lighting tried to make do with what little grace he was offered, but he wouldn't be surprised if Doc was doing this out of pity-- Giving Lightning just enough rope to not wind up hanged. 

The thought hit him with enough force to break his ribs. He sunk down under the water and the steam, found some new wound inside him and teased it, probing it until it bled. Of course Doc was doing this out of pity, or because he thought it was the only way to keep a kid like Lightning around. Of course he didn't believe in the same stupid fantasies Lightning did. Of course he didn't see Lightning like that. There was nothing to wait for.

Lightning considered slamming his head against the wall, ripping his heart out and wrapping it up with a ribbon made from his veins, leaving it on Doc's pillow. He thought about leaving in the middle of the night while Doc was sleeping, getting a flight and giving Doc the gift of his absence. 

He knew he never would. He would stick around. Even if it destroyed him. 

He stretched out, turned the water off with his foot, and put his arms up on either side of the tub, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. For a small, blissful second, Lightning was nowhere at all. The cold, unfeeling air clung to him, as the water did to his skin, the cool ceramic cradled him. He could feel all of it, but he was absolutely nowhere. He was spirit, he was the furthest thing from race car driver Lightning McQueen. He wasn't in love with someone who would never have him, in a world that would prefer him dead over hopeless. And maybe the feeling should've scared him-- It was happening more often, the slipping away-- It should've scared him that he was feeling less and less like the self he had built his whole image on. But it felt sort of pleasant.

Doc knocked on the door, and his low, kind voice was all it took to unwillingly ground Lightning in the present. "You alright, kid?" And if Lightning resented the feeling, resented that Doc had so much goddamn control over his form as well as his material, well, he would never say so. He chewed his lip, drew blood. 

"I'm fine. Sorry. I'll be out in a jiffy, Doc."

Lightning could practically hear his smile, warm and approachable, the kind he only really gave to Lightning. He wanted to believe he was special-- _God_ , he wanted to believe Doc _wanted_ him just as bad, was just as gone on him, was just as scared of showing it. Only smiled in his direction. But Lightning had to be realistic about this, as a matter of self-preservation. Else he'd wind up shattered, useless, worthless. He took a breath and climbed to his feet, wrapped a hotel towel around his waist. 

He wiped his hand across the mirror and looked himself in the eye, trying to piece himself together from the ground up. His hair was a muddy sort of blonde when it was wet, and it curled in weird ways if he left it to its own devices. His eyes were dark, tired, a spark of anger somewhere. He wondered if this was how he always looked. 

In some melancholic clarity, Lightning saw himself from the outside. A kid, white-trash wannabe racer, James Dean hag with too much free time and not enough discipline. Had only gotten this far because of a man who was too nice for him, and Lightning had to go and mess that up by seeing the _world_ in him. He wasn't some god, some miracle driven by his frailty. He was fragile first, obnoxious second. He was doomed to have a life of _never enough_. A life of adrenaline and crashing. 

Doc had already lived his life, anyway. Lightning was a footnote, a point of trivia for Doc's eulogy.

Lightning slicked his hair back, water dripping on the floor. He opened the door with a renewed flame beneath his flesh, one he was trying to neatly tuck away somewhere hidden. Wasn't Doc's fault Lightning thought they could actually resemble anything close to a couple. Wasn't Doc's fault that he was as stupid as he was. 

He grabbed his swimming trunks from his bag, cherry red with thin white stripes, and avoided Doc's eyes on his way back to the bathroom. It was only a matter of time before Doc realized something was wrong and tried to have a heart-to-heart (Doc was good at heart-to-hearts, he had sat Lightning down countless times to ask him what was on his mind, what got him so depressed sometimes, and even when Lightning couldn't talk about home, and leaving, and his friends, he always felt better afterwards; he wasn't sure if he deserved to feel better this time around).

He made a dash for the pool once he had his trunks on, dove right into the deep end. When he surfaced, Doc was already settling into one of the lounge chairs, the pool light shining on him in a peculiar, almost other-worldly way. His shirt was unbuttoned, his shorts ending right above his knee, and Lightning hated how it immediately stirred something inside him. 

Doc cracked a smile like he couldn't help it, like just seeing Lightning was enough, and Lightning realized, begrudging and unwilling, that no matter what he tried to convince himself, no matter what self-hating mantra he believed that day, that smile would always make him feel one-of-a-kind.

\--

Doc couldn’t, in this universe or any other, give himself over completely. He measured every touch, noted every glance, cataloged it all like he was an unwilling participant in his own pleasure while also being defined by it. But he refused to corrupt this boy, to be corrupted _by_ this boy, wholly consumed. He frequently wondered if any of it was worth it-- If slamming himself into a brick wall over and over again was worth it because the colors it put behind his eyes were unlike any other. The answer was yes. The answer would _always be_ yes. Lighting was a firework, bright and blinding, painful at times, but _worth_ the spectacle. 

He thought his life was over when he crashed. He thought what was left would be spent wasting away in small-time bars with small-time people, barflies who knew every song on the jukebox. He thought there was nothing left to offer someone like him, who had reached fame when he was already older than most people in his field. Of course Lightning had to ruin all of that. 

And of course he wouldn't ever completely be his, not without the constance of mortality following them everywhere in one form or another. He would settle for seeing him on the track, which didn't really feel like settling at all, because Lightning was _gorgeous_ \-- He raced beautifully and came out covered in sweat and victory, smiling from ear to ear. But it was only part of the dreams Doc had, the visions he saw when he was five beers in and Lightning had gone to sleep. 

So when Lightning was in the shower, Doc was lying on his bed, thinking of the way Lightning's hands shook when he undid his belt, letting the memory and all its warmth wash over him. And he _tried_ to let it go, _tried_ to untether it from the attic of his mind, let it be faded, blotted out, healed. He couldn’t. 

Lightning, when he got out of the shower (and at any other time), was a very active element of destruction. It was clear that no amount of meditation and relaxation could change the way that he, presently, crashed against Doc's psyche. It was clear in the way water dripped down his bicep, the way he gritted his teeth when he was keeping himself from saying something, the way he tore through the room, then ran for the pool, throwing himself headfirst exactly how Doc would expect him to. 

And Doc stopped caring about letting it go. He accepted that he was now a haunted house, filled with jammed doors and flickering lights. Lightning was just the newest ghost. If this was going to be the last few decades of Doc’s life, teaching this kid how to race, watching him from a distance, only ever touching him in small, sly ways-- Doc would be okay with that. 

He leaned back in the poolside lounge chair, one of those insufferable plastic ones, arm behind his head. He smiled when he saw Lightning popping up above the water. Lightning looked at him for a moment, his mouth part way open, tongue between his teeth. "You're not gonna get in? Thought I could see who could hold their breath longer, old man." And he smiled, and it was beautiful. It was a leap in Doc's chest. 

Lightning was how he always would be, a call of the void. He lit up the same part of the brain that urged people to jump off buildings when they were standing on the roof, the same voice that manifested intrusive thoughts and too-close-to-home-nightmares-- And he was a dream. He was ephemeral, like Doc. Lightning's skin shone under the moon, reflected the soft pool lights, small droplets of chlorinated water clinging to his cheeks. Doc wondered if they would taste sweeter now that they had touched his skin. 

"Fine just watching you, promise."

Lightning's face got serious for a flash of a second, pulled into some mix of concern and disappointment before it relaxed back to his normal expression. "If you say so," he said, turning and diving underwater. 

Doc could track his form, distorted by the unnatural blue of the water, but ideal all the same. Everything he did, no matter how opposing, seemed to be done with the highest degree of ease, the calmest extension of grace. He moved through the world like he was burning a path in front of him, like he was the fire and the rest of the population was simple kindling. There was little conflict in his movements, though Doc didn't doubt there was plenty in his mind (if his microexpressions of anxiety were anything to go by). He wanted to be a world-famous racer, but could hardly stand to get out of bed on time. Wanted to spend his days doing hours long races, but could hardly hold patience for anything else. He was a mess of conflict, but he performed it so _easily_. 

It felt like a game, watching Lightning resurface, again and again, felt like a game with incredibly high stakes. It was almost as though Lightning were taunting him, daring him to step closer, to close the third-party space that always existed when the two of them were in the same room, alone, connected by a thin, invisible wire, daring him to move with as much reckless momentum as he did.

Doc thought very seriously about sharing a bed with Lightning that night. Usually, Lightning would ask and Doc would dart his eyes away, shake his head, pretend he was responsible and not utterly frightened. They would hold memories between their teeth like possessive dogs, but wouldn't say a word about them. 

Tonight, their beds were very still, the both of them floating above the sheets like ghosts, their backs facing each other, their eyes facing their respective walls. 

Maybe it was the dark taking away the capacity of Doc's lungs. Maybe it was the terror of the shadows, the way the floor seemed to breathe under him, whisper all of his secrets in amused tones. Maybe his body was giving out on him. The stress and the blackout-drunk body-memories of boys who looked like Lightning, boys which Lightning still didn't know about beyond whatever assumptions and blind connections he had made. All Doc knew was that a rope had tied itself around his chest, around his hands, and he felt past helpless. But he didn't know what else to do besides sit it out. He couldn't _leave_ the boy now.

Sitting it out apparently meant not being able to sleep for hours while a heaviness, a deep fog, settled behind his eyes, behind his stomach, and all the bones in his legs. It meant not being able to adjust his pillow right, not being able to close his eyes tight enough. It meant thinking of cutting off his arms, passing out from the blood loss-- Or biting through his thumb to jolt himself awake, because maybe he just needed to tire himself out in a more complete way. 

Doc fell asleep without really meaning to, somewhere around 3 am. He had a dream about meeting Lightning, or someone close enough to Lightning, when he was still learning how to spread his wings in Thomasville. They sat in a patch of wildflowers, both of their hearts in permanent sync. Doc found the names for the flowers, their true scientific names, in a book, read them out loud to Lightning as he soaked in the sun, a train horn calling in the distance. 

It was worth it. The fog, the blood, the bleeding. The head trauma. It would always be worth it. 


	2. Chapter 2

They had a day left in the hotel before they had to check out and go back home. And _back home_ meant back to the place where their desire licked up the aging walls, the place where their memories were still wrapped in Doc's sheets. Lightning would have to navigate around the feelings Doc’s clearly gave him, cope by jacking off in the bathroom before bed.

Lightning wanted to make this day last as long as possible. He would lose his mind if he had to pretend everything was normal in that house. There were birds chirping in the intentionally planted trees, sunlight streaking through their branches and their dying leaves. The cement around the pool was warm against his feet, but the air was cooling down some now that Winter was a month or so away, chasing the heels of Fall, threatening to smite the crisp air. Lightning stood in the threshold between the room and the outside, breathing it in. He was so consciously alive it almost pained him, near broke his heart. 

Doc was lying on his back, floating on the chlorine. His eyes were closed, and it gave Lightning the rare opportunity to look at him without the normal anxiety that prickled through his insides. For that moment, as he eyed Doc, seeming vaguely like a corpse, vaguely like an angel, it didn't matter what Lightning looked like. It didn't matter if he was giving Doc something in return or if he was never able to touch him again. Because Doc was in front of him, letting the water lap at his sides, letting the sun dry his face. And Lightning could believe that he was the only one who ever saw him in such a state. 

He folded the feeling the same way you would a picnic blanket, a soft whisper of some untitled poem in the creases, a large sigh, a soft smile, and he hid it away in the attic of his mind-- The same place he stored withered birthday balloons and sepia photographs. It held no tension, it caused no conflict. He might find it again when he was looking for Christmas lights. He might find it again when Doc got a little too drunk or a little too tired, when his voice echoed against the attic walls, when he spoke about his hometown (which wasn't his first hometown, but instead the one he ran to); a warm, heavy feeling would wash over Lightning, and he would remember this, the tucking away, and he would have to fold it up all over again. 

Doc raised his arms, his fingertips reaching for the sky. Lightning could see the entire shadow of his arms against the sunlight, could see the way it rose and fell, extended to his wrists and his hands. Lightning imagined his own palms, flat against Doc's-- thinner, smaller, weaker, but the wrinkles would line up. They would have the same paths carved into them. He could imagine. 

A breeze blew past him, and he found himself looking for the source of it, staring up at the sky, accusing the clouds.

He slept like he was in a coma last night, dreamless and foggy. When he woke up, he reached an arm out, pushed through the covers to find nothing but empty space, space without Doc. Something cracked somewhere nameless, but seeing Doc on his side, even though he was facing away from him, was almost enough to heal it. And it was frustrating how quickly he got over it, how quickly his dreamlessness stopped bothering him because Doc was so close. When Doc rose, propping himself up on his elbow, Lightning was reminded of the way catfish kicked up, leapt above water, or the way the water leapt against the bank. He was a rising tide. 

And so it was funny when Doc stepped into the pool, barely knowing how to swim. And it felt nice, getting to watch him, getting to have him close without having to meet his eyes. Lightning wanted the moment to last for as long as it could. He wanted the late Autumn air to stick to them, seal them in resin and leave them there. No one would know what they were. No one would know how much space Doc took up in his head, how he kept thinking about his hands pressed to his, hands intertwined. Everyone would revise their history, and it wouldn't even matter because they would be perfectly captured just like this: Lightning's eyes grazing against Doc's face, his arms crossed in the doorway, his lips chapped. 

Soon Doc was on his feet in the water, arms kindly cradled by it, floating just on the surface. He smiled, and Lightning swore it was branded on his eyelids at this point, burned into him. His eyes were dark from where Lightning was standing, dipped in the sun's shadow, but Lightning knew they were bluer than anything, Lightning knew the light he carried behind them.

"Gonna jump in, or are you enjoying yourself from there?"

Lightning smiled back, and it felt like it was enough. He felt like he could get by on moments like this. He wouldn't have to burden Doc with the chest-aching sort of desire that plagued him. He shook his head. "Had my fill of swimming last night."

Doc's eyes squinted for the smallest moment. He was seeing something, some feeling or emotion behind Lightning's words, or in his tone, and-- God, couldn't Lightning have anything to himself? Was he always read so easily by the one person he was terrified of seeing him in all his sincerity? Doc didn't say anything, just floated onto his back again, just stared up at the sky. 

Lightning went back into the room, damning his voice. Maybe Doc's house wouldn't be so bad. They had divided space there. Lightning could isolate himself until he rotted, turned to dirt.

Lightning's head turned to static. He couldn't be sure how much time had passed between being denying himself the chance of swimming in the same waters as Doc and next being able to move, but eventually, he crouched and turned on the shitty little television set, flipped through all the channels at least ten times over, listening to the _click_ of the knob. In the silence between the changes, Lightning was wracked by emotions he couldn’t quite describe. One after another, after another, until he shut the television off and laid face first on his bed. He knew it was his fault he felt so alone, his fault and his decision to leave town and pursue a life like this. He could’ve talked to Doc more than he let himself, could’ve let Doc see him, understand him. He could’ve kept in better contact with Sally or Flo, who he couldn’t call now after so long. They would ask too many questions, and that was the last thing Lightning needed right now. 

But Mater. Well, Mater was never the type to ask questions, even if it had been months since they’d last talked. He rolled over and reached for the phone before the impulse could fade away, a mint-green, shiny rotary. The kind he imagined Sally would have if she ever got her own line. He put the number in slowly, a wash of nerves coming over him. He knew he couldn’t say much, couldn’t be too raw or too honest, but Mater always had low expectations of him, easy expectations. 

The line rung, and Lightning considered hanging up before Mater answered, considered never talking to anyone from that town again. He gripped the phone tight, heard a click-- Mater's drawn-out "Hellooo?". Lightning's face cracked into a smile. 

"Mater. Hey. How've you been?" Lightning's voice was softer than he meant it to be, obviously filled with nostalgia, pain from an old wound. 

"Now, don't tell me this is Lightning McQueen-- I'll blow a gasket! Buddy, is that you?"

Lightning laughed, something quiet and healing. "Yes, yeah, it's me. I'm, uh, on the road, sort of. Doing races, that kinda thing." He felt almost embarrassed talking about it, like it was a confession in and of itself. Of course, Mater reacted with complete enthusiasm. 

They didn't talk about anything interesting, Mater didn't ask any questions about who he was with or what he was up to between races. It was like no time had passed between them. And it was nice to have a conversation that didn't have miles of hidden meaning and history behind it. It was nice to just be-- talking, even if he was still holding himself back from talking about Doc.

Turned out, Mater had gotten a job under a local mechanic and was working most days. "So if you ever need a tune-up, or somethin' like that, I'm the man to call."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." He laid his arm over his eyes. A beat passed between them, and Lightning couldn't help but let some of it slip, some of everything he had been keeping to himself. He took a breath.

"...I don't really know what I'm doing here, Mater. Glad to be racing and all that, and some really cool people have helped me get here, and I'm super grateful and everything, but I just-- I feel like I'm spinning my wheels, y'know."

Mater's tone faded into something more serious, "Mm. I feel you on that one." A pause. "Maybe you need a change of pace, y'know, go somewhere you haven't been. Hell, come back here. Sally's been missin' you." He didn't say it with any hint of joking like he usually did.

He couldn’t go back. They both knew that. "'ve been thinking about her a lot. Both of y'all. I've really been missing how we used to hang out."

Mater laughed, "You say that like we used to raise hell or somethin' and not just loiter behind the corner store."

"Hey, we did raise some hell-- Remember when we got that one cat to buy us booze?"

"Yeah, and Sally's candy-ass refused to drink it?"

"She came around, though. And we had lots of fun that night."

"Whatever you say, buddy. All I remember is throwin' up in your mom's plants."

Lightning heard some crashing in the background and then Mater cursing. "Shoot, gotta go. Call me soon, alright? Don't be a stranger."

Lightning nodded, and he felt a pang of something lost. "Take care, Mater."

The other line clicked. And it was just Lightning. Just like that. 

Mater wasn't wrong-- Lightning was prone to exaggerating, and it was easy when there wasn't anyone to correct him. It was comforting to think that Lightning was capable of raising hell, that his life wasn't normal, that he wasn't normal-- Or that his abnormality was something flashy, not something that pained him. Even in the bars, the one place it should've actually felt dangerous, he was always protected. No one messed with Flo and by extension, no one messed with him. He was hidden somewhere safe if the pigs came sniffing around, everyone treating him like a little brother. It was nice to talk to someone that saw Lightning not in relation to themselves or their contexts, but just as he was.

He also made a good point about needing a change of pace. He just needed a little sizzle, a little something exciting, or different, something invigorating. He just wasn’t sure how he was gonna get that with Doc around, in the same space, and he didn’t know how secure he’d feel going somewhere by himself. Once again, stuck. Damned either way.

Doc walked in the room, footsteps quiet. "Didn't wanna interrupt your phone call."

Lightning sighed, his chest feeling tighter by the minute. He couldn't try and keep everything from Doc, it'd be pointless. He wished he was back outside, watching Doc float on the water. He couldn’t pretend nothing was eating at him when Doc could completely see him. 

"I feel restless," he said, almost cautiously, like he could blow down his whole house of cards with the wrong word. He folded his arms behind his head, looked up at the drywall ceiling. It was more than restlessness. It was anger, it was guilt, it was the shadow that followed him wherever he went. 

Doc sat down on his bed, slipping on a t-shirt. Lightning wondered what he was thinking out on the pool-- If he was even thinking about Lightning, if the small space they shared felt confining to him. He wondered if Doc was so used to this sort of thing, this doubt, this fear, that he didn't even notice it anymore. Lightning turned his head to look at him, and there was a weight to his expression, a tiredness Lightning couldn't comprehend. He hated to think that he was the cause of it. "I'm sorry." He sounded so pathetic, small. Nothing like the person he normally saw himself as (which was false anyway-- Lightning was entirely pathetic at his core, prone to exaggeration and obnoxiousness and Doc just brought it out of him). He cleared his throat and tried again. "And I just mean-- I'm-- I'm sorry for--"

"Spare me. If you don't mind. Spare me whatever you're thinking right now." 

Lightning shut up. He felt like crying, but he kept his face still, went back to looking at the ceiling. He would always be _this pathetic_ around Doc-- It would be better if he just stayed away. Surely Doc was thinking the same thing, surely he wanted Lightning gone just as bad. He couldn't fucking stand himself, how could he expect anyone else to?

"I should be saying sorry. I should've said sorry from the moment you showed up on my porch."

Lightning blinked. It felt like a kick to the stomach. It felt like Lightning had just done something disgusting, like he was covered in sick and was just getting it everywhere. He was ruining everything. But Doc kept going. 

"I used to go back to that bar every week, hoping you'd show up. Flo bought me so many drinks--"

"You told Flo?" It wasn't an accusation, or a criticism, but a whispered curiosity. Lightning had known that they knew each other but this--

"Not about you, not really. Talked around you." He inhaled through his nose, jaw clenched. "Wouldn't be surprised if she knew what I was talking about, though. Perceptive. Saw me leave with other--" he shook his head, a pained smile on his lips, "I felt... So torn up over you. Impossibly torn up over you. Entirely wrecked." He chuckled, "Which is what I said. But I don't think I really-- I don't think it came across well enough. I don't think I said enough. I should've apologized."

Lightning remembered. In the Hornet, in the blazing heat, Doc yelling about what Lightning _did to him._ He remembered. "You took me home," he said, and it was maybe a justification, maybe an explanation, maybe a reminder. 

Doc was chewing on his bottom lip. "I did. And I'm glad I did, but I think it became just another memory. It shouldn't have."

He wasn’t sure how he landed here with so little effort, and with half his time being spent convinced that Doc was completely over him. But it turned how he _had_ been waiting. He had been waiting for this. “What should it have been, then, Doc?”

His laugh then was more of a huff paired with a half-smile and a sigh. He looked up, folded his hands like he was praying, then looked right at Lightning. Lightning could've burst into flames. "It should've been the start of something. Or the end. Don't think I should've started coaching you until we had it sorted out."

Lightning found himself agreeing, and he wasn't sure if it was because _Doc_ was the one saying it, or if he just hated the limbo they were in, where every touch meant something they couldn't say. He bit his lip "You said you didn't wanna hurt me."

The look on Doc's face made him regret saying it-- His eyebrows coming together, the blue in his eyes flickering. "Have I?"

Lightning wanted to say no, actually, he was perfectly fine, the past few months hadn't driven him absolutely insane. There would be no reason to come this far and tell such a bald-faced lie. "Kinda," he whispered, and it came out like a betrayal. He shut his eyes. "Don't think you meant to, but-- Felt like I couldn't say anything, couldn't be honest with you about anything. I could tell you didn't want to talk about it, and you had already offered so much of your space and time to me-- I figured I'd survive. Wouldn't kill me to pretend like nothing had happened."

"Jesus, kid." Doc ran a hand over his face, "Jesus christ."

\--

It was completely unfair how easily this kid said the shit on his mind. All Doc had to do was give him a little prompting and it all came spilling out. Doc had spent hours, days, months trying to find the right words, and Lightning nails it in a few sentences. And, _fuck_ , they were both _unreasonably_ stupid. Doc was here worrying that he had definitely overstepped something, that he hadn't lived up to whatever idea Lightning had of him, and Lightning was just-- Waiting, watching, making do with what he had. There was a kindness underlying all of it. Doc's heart swelled. 

Here was this boy, laying himself out in front of Doc, his voice rising gently from his mouth, sweeter than anything, and he acted like he didn't have Doc's whole heart, his whole soul in his hands. He acted like Doc could just walk away from all of this and not tear himself in two. Like Doc hadn't already tried to move on and couldn't. 

Lightning sat up, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. His hair fell in front of his face. He raked it back. It seemed impossible that they were in the situation they were in, that Doc could even _have_ this conversation. Lightning looked down at the floor, and Doc could tell there was another apology hanging off his lips. 

It hit Doc that they both wanted the same thing. They had been wanting the same thing and he had convinced himself that they were out of sync. They never were. God, he was _stupid_. He couldn’t let Lightning try and apologize for things that weren’t his fault. 

He stood suddenly, cutting off whatever sort of thing Lightning was about to say, and stood over him, taking his face into his hands. It felt like a return, like a rebirth. Their eyes met, and Lightning looked like a kicked puppy, some emotion pooling behind his eyes, his breathing picking up. Doc smiled. There was no other way to react when confronted by everything he could ever want. Lightning kept proving that he, at his core, was made up of gentleness, that all of his restlessness and ambition came after. He kept proving that there was a reason Doc felt so attached to him.

The words that had been brewing in his mouth disappeared quietly. He didn't need to say anything. Neither of them did. Lightning reached up and held Doc's wrists, partly in an attempt to hold anything at all, do anything with his hands that wasn't twitching, and partly as permission-- A quiet sort of permission. Doc's lips parted for just a moment, something inexplicable on his tongue, in his throat, swelling and making it impossible to breathe calmly. There were stars in Lightning's eyes, there was thunder drumming in his chest. The moment before, marinated in tension, was almost more electric than the contact itself.

But when the space was closed, when the contact was made, it was a storm. Doc understood why three was a holy number. 

He would never have enough, there was no amount of tension-filled glances that would ever be enough when he could have this: his hands in Lightning's hair, his mouth on his, his heart thrumming out of his chest, meeting somewhere in the middle with Lightning's. Doc fell to his knees somewhere between, as reverence, as prayer. Lightning kept pushing his chin forward, desperately, jarringly. He kept digging his nails into Doc's wrists, squeezing his eyes shut. Doc could've lived forever collecting all the details in Lightning's face, all of the space between the beats of his heart. 

They disconnected, but didn't pull far apart, ribbons made of blood, maybe of pure will, were woven between their rib cages. Doc looked up at Lightning, and there was still some worry in his expression, some amount of disbelief. Doc hated to think that he was the cause of it. He leaned forward and up, Lightning instinctively tilting his head down, and he placed a kiss in the center of Lightning's forehead. "I don't think I'll ever get you off my mind. You'll be stuck with me for a while, kid."

"'M alright with that, Doc. Perfectly fine with that." His voice didn't tremble, but it did give away the emotion hidden in his expression. And once again Doc found himself entirely pulled apart, every part of himself laid out. Lightning left fingerprints on every single piece, left them burnt around the edges. 

Doc could've gone farther, he was sure Lightning would let him do most anything right now, and they had the room to themselves for the rest of the night. But the kiss, still raw, felt too precious to risk ruining. So, he left it alone. He kept his hands on Lightning's cheek, which was now flushed, feverish. His eyes were blue, but also some Lovecraftian shade-- inexplicable and dangerous, inviting as they were. 

Doc pulled back, his hands dropping from Lightning's face to Lightning's thighs, then knees, then nothing. Until they were two separate beings again. It was the same sort of parting that happened between the tide and the sand-- one that only existed in its promise of a return. 

"Y'know," Lightning said, his tone almost reverent, "Never thought I'd be kissin' the Hudson Hornet." He grinned and it lit up the room. Doc returned it in kind. 

"Don't tell me that's been your plan all along."

Lightning hummed, fell back onto the bed, arms spread out on either side like he was basking in a nonexistent sun. "Definitely wanted to kiss you when I was younger. Didn't really know it, though. And definitely wanna kiss you now, but they're-- They're two separate wants, y'know. You're not really the Hudson Hornet anymore, you're Doc. You mean something different to me now."

Doc couldn't see his face from this angle, but he could imagine he was saying all of that with his eyes closed, he could imagine he had mulled over what Doc meant to him often. It came out so easily. Doc sat with his back against his bed, the frame digging into his spine. "What d'I mean to you, then?" He held his breath waiting for an answer. 

Lightning stayed quiet for a moment, pulling his arms in and folding his fingers across his belly. He inhaled, then exhaled, breathing for the both of them. "You know how the air gets really thick during Summer, even when it's not that hot out? And you keep breathing it in to prove your lungs are still working? And the asphalt under your feet is warm, and the sun's goin' down, and for a moment, everything stops. Everything starts feeling so clear, and bright, and like the world might just be worth saving."

He knew those moments where his heart broke from the weight of being alive, but without pain, without sound. It felt virtuous, in the purest sense of the word. His proper work, his essential work, for his heart to break. Akin to a moment like this, across the boy he loved. 

The word filled him with that exact weighty clarity. It was a virtue to love him. 

Lightning climbed down to the floor, half-falling. While he steadied himself, and while Doc's breathing turned shallow, he continued. "You remind me of those moments. Everything clicks. And it's not, like, perfect or anything. It's still kinda hard to breathe, and it doesn't last very long, and before you know it you're back to trudging through whatever was bothering you in the first place, but-- For a moment, everything is beautiful."

Doc was pretty sure his heart had stopped with his lungs. He did nothing for an entire moment besides blink and look up at Lightning in disbelief. His features were lit wonderfully in the afternoon sun, and his smile was so subtle on his lips that Doc wouldn't have been surprised if he was seeing things. He swallowed and looked down. Lightning's voice, when he next spoke, gentle. "Was that too much? You asked, you know."

Doc laughed and it let something inside him loose. Yeah, _yeah_ , he did ask. And christ, did he get an answer. And it meant little to Lightning that his words were going to send Doc to the hospital, because to Lightning they were just words, just a true statement. Doc could've cried right there, broken down completely. He could've run his car off a cliff and been perfectly content with it. He had never heard anyone, except the most insufferable sorts of people, speak like that about someone else-- and _never_ with such sincerity. Lightning McQueen seemed hell bent on ruining Doc in every way possible. It made Doc almost shy. 

"Just makes me wanna kiss you again," he confessed, "Makes me wish I didn't tell you to go home that night."

Lightning shrugged, "Would've been too scared to say anything like that. Only came to terms with everything after I went home, anyway."

Doc made eye-contact. "I could've made you realize much quicker."

Lightning’s face fell, his breath hitched. His teeth sank into his lip. The flush brightened on his cheek, spread to his neck, underpaintings. Doc felt less filthy for indulging in the way Lightning reacted, felt less dirty for saying those things out loud. 

Lightning's foot rested against Doc's calf, his eyelids low, his eyes dark. It was easy to rile him up and Doc would be lying if that didn't access something long buried, some relish of control that he was normally going too fast, breathing too hard for. There was a familiarity in Lightning's expression, and Doc couldn't pinpoint if he had seen it on Lightning's face or on the faces of the nameless, countless boys. 

Lightning tilted his head back, and it must've been on purpose that he swallowed at the same time, drawing attention to the curve, calling attention to skin that was growing paler the colder it got outside. He ran a hand over his thigh, the way one might do as a tic, a mannerism exposing anxiety-- There wasn't any tremor in Lightning's hand. There was an infinite pause where Doc realized what he was doing (what he was about to do) and he completely stilled, except for the storm brewing inside himself, the buzzing in his ears. And that pause seemed to last forever as Lightning drew his fingertip up to the waistband of his shorts, baked in chlorine from the night before, surely similarly baked in his scent. 

This boy was impossible. Always moved too fast for Doc to keep up with, always was onto the next thing before Doc could even process the first. And he was entirely perverted doing something like this. It was something comforting to know Lightning's head also contained pathways to the sinful.

He lifted his head, making a fierce sort of eye contact, and Doc, despite all of his previous worries, nearly felt like he was the one being taken advantage of. He bit his tongue. Gnawed until he tasted blood, imagined kissing Lightning just like that-- And he could've kissed him. He could've reached out and taken Lightning's hand, placed it flat on his chest while he took over. But he didn't. His brain wasn't quite whole enough to explain why. 

It was satisfying, in some way, to see Lightning pull _himself_ apart. It was satisfying to see the way he had gotten by without Doc, even if Lightning was obviously putting on a show-- Doc could imagine it faster and dirtier later.

The head of Lightning's cock poked over the top of his shorts, resting against his belly, Lightning's lithe hand, strong only by virtue of gripping a wheel for hours a day, wrapped around the base. He seemed to be scanning Doc's expression, but was keeping his own under control, closing his eyes soon after, tilting his head back again as he turned his wrist, pulled his hand up slowly. Doc couldn't believe he had ever thought he had any sort of control over the situation. 

It was stripping all of Doc's nerves at once, happening too slowly and much too fast at the same time-- Existing liminally, as a threshold. He was offering himself to Doc in a way that threatened less than simply throwing himself into bed with him. It was still his own hands on him, his own tongue on his lips. Doc couldn't touch him, not without ruining it, not without possibly pushing Lightning away. 

So he watched, his chest rising and falling, another spark of familiarity running through him as Lightning ran his thumb across his head, sucking in a breath, letting out a sigh, picking up his pace. The only touch Doc could fully enjoy being the curl of Lightning's toes against his leg. 

Lightning lifted his shirt with his other hand, exposing toned stomach, absolutely obscene. Doc's first thought, as expected, was to the way his tongue would fit against the curve of his side, the geography hidden under his skin. His mind then wandered to the image of peeling back Lightning's shirt himself, then his skin-- tongue against muscle. Violence rubbing against the rawest sort of admiration, because a man who loved men (a man who loved a boy made up of more fire and breath than humanity, more kindness than flame) was a dead man.

And Lightning, with his head tilted back, his hand flat on his chest, fucking _moaned._ Half breath, half whine, hanging in the air like a symphony. Doc lost all sense of reason, lunged forward fast enough and with enough force to dislocate a disk in his spine. He crashed against Lightning's mouth, one of them breaking skin but he couldn't tell which-- Pain being but an abstract as he collided into each other, landing on their backs, legs halfway under the bed. 

It was anything but gentle, anything but slow. Doc felt something dark, animal grab onto his ribs, tear its claws into his windpipe as he consumed all of Lightning that he could, as he took him into his own hand, flashes of memories in dark allies come to mind, but none of them close-- none of them even able to be compared to hearing Lightning himself groan under him, call Doc's name into his mouth, run his tongue along Doc's bottom lip. 

It all blurred, and in the next moment, Lightning's hand was pawing at Doc's shorts, Doc's name sounding more like a request. Doc responded by grabbing his wrist and pinning it to the carpet. And Lightning, always so perfectly willing, raised his other arm above his head. Doc could've swallowed him whole in that moment, become the snake in the garden. He considered it-- then remembered the tide, moving slowly forward, incrementally closer, not destroying as much as-- shaping, forming the sand, displacing it. A tide was not a hurricane, and as much as Doc wanted to destroy Lightning, as much as he wanted to leave nothing in his wake-- He couldn't risk having nothing to return to. 

He pulled back, slowly, bitterly. Couldn't decide if he was doing the right thing or playing into all of his fears. Lightning's expression did him no favors. Eyebrows tucked together, lips turned down, blinking rapidly like the right number might give him an answer. Doc gritted his teeth and pulled back away, sitting back against the side of the bed. 

Lightning seemed to understand. Panting, all breath and hot air, all of Doc settled somewhere in his palms. He leaned forward, his fingers making contact first, fingerprints laying into Doc's cheekbone, then climbed into Doc's lap, both hands cradling his face in the kindest of ways, like a doe, clumsy, suburbian, fragile. "I'm not scared," he whispered, "You've always been mine, in some way, shape, or form, for all of my life. You've always been mine."

Emotion, thick and sweet, was lodged in Doc's throat. The skin around his eyes and around his hands cracked, revealing rotted gold, revealing the oil slick that made him up. Lightning could see it slipping through his fingers, and he-- God, he looked /enchanted/. He could see all of Doc and he didn't mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was insanely fun to write and kinda insane to read back over. i feel like everything kinda tumbles its way forward lol. hope yall enjoyed !!! next one is gonna be a lot of . talking and lightning will in fact get his change of pace :) <3
> 
> also think i forgot to say but the work title is from an old story by mary oliver! the series title is from white flowers also by her.
> 
> feel free to leave comments, kudos, etc!! i love hearing what yall think


	3. Chapter 3

"Doesn't that make it worse?" Doc asked him, his voice raw, hesitant. 

Lightning, as if there were no way to corrupt this moment, as if it wasn’t as fleeting and temporary as the both of them, shook his head. He figured with enough confidence, he could get Doc to believe him. “How in the world would that make it worse?”

He tried to look down-- Lightning wouldn't let him. He stayed quiet until Doc said something. His tongue ran out over his bottom lip, his hands laid over Lightning's. He had a mystified sort of expression on his face, his eyes not quite wide, his mouth not quite open. The ribbons in their ribs grew shorter, and it seemed impossible to part after this long. Both of their thoughts floated, vague and dull, in the small space between them, not only bodies shared but minds as well. 

Doc inhaled, a shadow passing over his face. "I don't like talking about these things, kid." Lightning stayed quiet, his eyes running over Doc's face like he would never get the chance again. He liked being here, nestled against Doc, he liked the idea of a future where this was a regular occurrence. 

Doc exhaled. "...I don't want--" his eyes dipped down, "I don't want you to wind up hurt. It's too easy for you to get hurt."

Lightning pushed Doc's hair back, nails lightly drawing along his scalp. Doc was always honest, Lightning knew, but he wasn't always completely raw. It was rare for him to say something so vulnerable so calmly, so intentionally as opposed to rushed and ranting. Lightning let the words hang there between them, suspended on dust, dense and impossibly soft. 

"I think..." Lightning started, "Think it hurts more when you pretend nothing happened."

"That's not the kinda hurt I'm talking about," Doc said swiftly like he was closing a tap. Lightning met his eyes. He could see the terror dwelling behind them, the simmering anxiety, but he couldn't quite find what it was attached to. 

Doc laid his hands on Lightning's waist, under his shirt-- Lightning had to very consciously stay still. It functioned partly as an explanation. Those long drives came to mind, the ones Doc took him on when they were at home, when Lightning couldn't stop fidgeting and twitching, when he wasn't getting enough sleep. How Lightning was close enough to know Doc was alive, not just a projection of his, but never close enough to prove it. Lightning could now feel the pulse on his waist, thrumming through his stomach and up his spine, reaching his own heart. 

He remembered the words Doc used, they were printed on his vital organs. _You wreck me_. He remembered the way his laid his hands on Doc's face, finally felt the warmth that animated him. Now that warmth was under him in a way it hadn't been in so long. "You said you've hurt too many people."

"Damn them," Doc said, his hands meeting on the small of Lightning's back, "It's not about them. It's about hurting _you_. Having you wake up one day and realize you should've never wanted me-- Or I should've never wanted you."

"Sounds like all of that is coming from your past, Doc. It is about them." Doc shook his head like Lightning still wasn't getting it, like he was unable to find the words to explain it right. "Then what? I can't want you because you're gay? Because you know that's a load of bullshit--"

"I'm gonna die before you, kid." The sentence hung in the air like humidity, and Lightning took a deep breath just to prove he could-- "I can't act like all you're gonna be left with is heartbreak. Even if we hide it, even if we find circles where we can be together-- It's not a kind of hurt you can sign on for. You don't know how it's gonna hurt you."

Lightning had no way to respond to that. It was the exact worry that was burning in some small corner of Lightning's mind, threatening to light the whole of himself on fire-- that he would become just a footnote in Doc's life. They wouldn't be encased in resin together. People would comment on how close they were, but they wouldn't know what that meant. They would say Lightning got Doc out of his hermit lifestyle through the power of mentoring and not through a street lamp-lit kiss and a somewhat uninvited stay at his needlessly rundown house. And, of course, that was if they were lucky enough to not be found out and ruined. And at the end of it, Lightning would be left alone.

A flush climbed up Lightning's throat, his heartbeat picking up in time with Doc's. He dropped his hands to Doc's shoulders, looked to the side, then up, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "If you die--"

"When," Doc said, "When."

"When you die, you old bastard--" Doc cracked a smile despite himself-- "...I'll have been honored to know you in a way no one ever has. Knowing the Hudson Hornet is pretty cool in itself, but knowing _Doc Hudson,_ " he smiled, "Now that's something."

Doc reached up and ran a thumb over Lightning's cheekbone, his expression soft, "That's great, kid, really, I'm glad you think so highly of me, but--" he shook his head, "That doesn't really dispel much. How much worse do you think you're making it for yourself?"

"That's my point, Doc," Lightning said with a small huff, more edge in his voice, "I don't mind pain, especially from you. I really don't mind--"

Doc shook his head again, exasperated, dipping his head, "You _cannot_ sign up for that kinda pain, Lightning. You can’t prepare for it. It's poetic and all, sayin’ all that, makes me feel nice and fuzzy, but that doesn't mean shit when you start to resent me for dying."

Lightning didn't quite get what he was trying to say, the cogs not completely turning. He couldn't imagine a world where he resented Doc for any reason-- Not for any extended period, anyway. So he wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't mind the sort of pain that came from being with Doc, because he would _be with_ Doc. It would be completely worth it.

Doc sighed, pressed a kiss to Lightning's cheek, making him enough like a kid for him to dig his fingernails into his palm. "Don't agree to things you don't understand. That doesn't do anything to put me at ease, boy."

A blush licked up his cheeks, his body stiffened in Doc's arms. His tone was venomous, "Sorry I'm not _stupid_ enough to think there's a way you don't wind up hurting me. You're _gonna_ hurt me, Doc, you _have_ hurt me, but it's just-- Jesus christ." Lightning pulled himself out of Doc's reach, stumbled to his feet. "Of course you're gonna hate yourself if that's your standard. It's a shitty standard!" He started pacing in front of the beds, feeling nothing but fire raging from the inside out. 

"So your solution is to act like hurting you is a good thing?"

And there were a million places Lightning could go with that one. He stopped in front of Doc. "The solution is--" he said, his breath heavy, "not being so scared _shitless_ about me leaving. I won't leave unless you push me away, dumbass."

"You don't get it, Lightning--"

"I don't give a shit what I get!" Lightning cried, "Just-- Fucking _listen_ to me. Alright? I'll _be_ at your funeral. And I'll give a eulogy, and I'll tell everyone who'll listen how fucking _frustrating_ you are, even if I can't tell them everything, even if all of it dies with us." His voice fell, carrying a breaking on its edges, "And it'll hurt-- And that's _fine_." he deflated, "Because I love you. And as long as I get time with you, as long as you stop _wasting_ time by being fucking stupid, everyone and everything else can go to hell. It doesn't matter."

The fire in Lightning's chest calmed down, and all he felt was tired. He sat on the edge of his bed, legs feeling worn, chest feeling strained. None of it mattered besides Doc. Lightning would set his entire career, his entire life on fire if Doc gave the word. He didn't care. And maybe that was reckless, maybe that was more a product of his youth than his reason, but why the fuck should that matter? If the Lightning in front of Doc was saying it was fine, then that's all they had to go on. Lightning couldn't predict the future. All he could do was hold onto Doc in the moment. Otherwise, he would regret it for the rest of his life. Even if he met someone _like_ Doc, even if he met someone who made him happy, even if he got on with a girl and lived a normal life. He would regret not going after him.

Doc was the only thing that made Lightning feel like he could maybe, _possibly_ go through life without destroying himself.

He stared up at Lightning, turning his hands over themselves again and again. "Some speech you gave there."

"Learned from the best," Lightning said, not meeting Doc's eyes. A beat. "All I mean is-- We could have so much wonderful time, Doc. If you're so worried about dying before me, you think you'd wanna spend it better. You’re not your deathbed, y’know.”

Doc laughed, and Lightning swore he could hear a sob layered underneath it, but he couldn't look at his face, couldn't try and parse his expression. "You really got a lot of moxie, kid. Only thing that gets me to listen." Another beat. "You love me, huh?" His voice was the smallest thing in the world, the most precious.

Lightning's face went red. He stared very intently at the lampshade, admiring the tightly woven linen it was made of. "I think pretty high of you."

"Mm. Retracting that statement, then?"

"No! I--" Lightning snapped, quickly making eye contact. Doc was looking toward the wall behind Lightning, his eyes wet. He rubbed them with the flat of his palm. It drew something up in Lightning, like he was a well filled only with half-empty lungs and a stammering heart. He worried the hem of his shirt between his fingers, some worn-out plain tee. He looked away. 

"So." Doc said, very simply. 

"So, maybe I do. It would be a lot easier to figure out if I wasn't thinking about you dying and all that."

Doc laughed for a second time, then sighed. "...Come here, Lightning."

There was no way, no part of Lightning that could possibly say no. He tumbled into Doc's lap, a return, resting his head on Doc's shoulder as he held Lightning tight. "I'll have you know, punk, that I think very highly of you, too."

Lightning could hardly breathe. "...Scared to say love?"

"Don't wanna show all my cards just yet. Gonna have to ask you to wait for that."

Lightning nodded as well as he could. "I'm well known for my patience. World-renowned, actually." He looked up at Doc, "Y'know, while I'm here-- I've been thinking about a change of pace." And he partially said it to change the subject, partially knew that if he didn't say it now he would forget. 

"Yeah?" Doc's expression was mostly back to its calm, measured usual, "Like what?"

Lightning beamed, everything falling into place. "I'm thinking a road trip. Wanna see that hometown of yours. Thomasville, right?" 

Doc's hands ran up Lightning's back slowly, like Doc was trying to prove to himself that Lightning was, in fact, a physical being. He drew in a breath, and Lightning could feel his chest expand against his. It really was better like this, just the two of them intertwined. If they never had an argument again, if the rest of their time was spent just like this, Lightning would have no complaints. Doc looked at him for a long moment, a fond if questioning look. "You wanna see Thomasville?"

"Home of the Fabulous Hudson Hornet," Lightning said, laying his hands flat right under his jaw, grounded by his pulse, "yeah I wanna see it." 

Doc narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything against it. Lightning wished he could open his skull and read all his thoughts as they came through, understand Doc's thinking in its rawest form instead of only seeing vague passings of expressions. He wished he could pull Doc apart easily, like Doc did him, could get him to actually confess all of his secrets instead of gesturing to them in stammered sentences. He wished he could make it easier.

Lightning laid his head back on Doc's shoulder, and Doc let his hands wander to the outside of Lightning's thighs, his cheek against Lightning's temple. Lightning could've fallen asleep right there, blissfully safe, feeling like everything might just work out. His heartbeat was steady, his arms, wrapped around Doc, felt light and airy. He felt like he might just float off into space, might just lose himself in the space created, and now closed, between them, the third-party immaterial space that existed in the gap between thoughts and words, between phone lines, in the ink of long love letters. It could carry Lightning into somewhere entirely elsewhere. 

"We could sleep," Lightning muttered, "it's getting dark out." And it was, very slowly. The sun was lazily setting somewhere they could see, but the thick oranges were reaching the tops of the shaking leaves. Lightning couldn't feel the sun's warmth, but he could see it plain as day. 

"Sleep now, wake up early, set off for Thomasville." 

Lightning made a sound of agreement, his eyes getting heavier with all this talk about sleeping and all this calm contentedness that was washing over him. He slipped off somewhere, though he wasn't quite sure it was sleep, and all he could remember was Doc's hands around him, carrying him a bit clumsily, and laying him down in bed. It was too warm to lay so close together, but Doc wrapped himself around Lightning anyway, hands under his ribs, chin resting on the top of his head. It made Lightning feel small without making him feel trivial. Lightning never felt as important as he did when he was sharing a bed with Doc, encased in his arms. 

That night was dreamless. 

\--

The sun hadn't even come up yet, but Lightning was revving at full throttle. Doc wasn't sure why he was so excited to see that dusty old town, but he'd be damned if he did anything to stifle Lightning's enthusiasm. They had rented a car from a local place, which to Lightning was "just the _most_ ," a 1951 Ford Crestliner, somehow moth bulbous and sleek, in a muted blue. Fabric seats, rich brown dashboard, shiny silver dials. 

Doc could remember when these things were a lot smaller, and how it felt even more cramped when he was sharing it with a boy-- Boxy Fords, arms pressed together in the summer heat, smiling, and joking, and doing everything to pretend he wasn't thinking about how the boy's teeth could click against his. 

Cars had a lot more space now. Doc only felt cramped in the way a full library is cramped, the way his house was cramped. Lightning stuck his head out the window like a dog, opening his mouth wide and yelling when the streets were empty. He kept trying to sit on the edge of the open window, between the car and the road passing below, and Doc had to keep pulling him back in by his shirt. And every time, Lightning would kiss his cheek and mutter some 'sorry', trying to sit still for all of thirty seconds before sticking his head out again. 

Doc didn't bother with a map. He turned on the radio nice and loud, and followed the road signs. If they wound up lost in some Small-America town, it wouldn't be the worst thing. He watched the sun rise slowly on the horizon and listened to Lightning sing along very poorly to the radio, finally settling with his feet up on the dash. 

The sky, only barely waking up, was a thin line of orange in the distance, dodging the trees, weaving in and out with the clouds. As the hours went on (Lightning falling asleep, worn out from whatever had possessed him), the orange became yellow, the yellow became blue, and bursts of sunlight laid flat and dense on the asphalt. Doc would turn and see streams covering Lightning's face like a cradling hand. It made sense that a boy destined to live his life too close to the sun would be comforted by its warmth. 

And it made sense that Doc was lost on him. There was no use pretending he was doing anything but carrying a deep, abiding affection with him at all times. It was no use pretending he didn't want to spend the rest of his life waking up with him, seeing all the possible ways the sun could hold him, seeing all the possible ways he could hold him. Especially now that Lightning _knew_ and _wanted him back_. Now that the lid was off whatever poorly hidden secret he had. 

The road rumbled under the both of them, and Doc, after so long, and with a small ache in his chest, finally opened the door to his thoughts about Lightning. That alley was the first memory, the one that always followed him, the first time. They both smelled like beer, and sweat, and some thick, cheap perfume. All it would've taken was one wrong glance their way to get caught-- And Doc didn't care, because Lightning was just someone he had met in a bar. He wasn't anything special. 

And then he looked scared. Doc hated to think of that expression on Lightning's face, he hated to think that this beautiful boy, so in tune with what he wanted, was so scared by his desire (made scared by his desire) that he couldn't enjoy it. It reminded Doc of before he had moved to Thomasville. It reminded Doc of himself. And before he could tell Lightning it got better, Lightning opened a long scabbed-over wound, ripped it open like it was nothing. Threw all of Doc's racing days in his face. 

At least Lightning had stayed somewhat consistent. He said Doc was his, always would be, and he was completely correct. Because Lightning reminded him of everything Doc could never have, he held the world in his palm, and then he threw it all away. And it could've just been an idle crush on Doc's part, a soft passion, someone Doc thought about when he jerked off in the shower, but Lightning-- He came back. He showed up at his doorstep. 

That's what terrified Doc, really, that idea that Lightning had thrown it all away _for_ something, for _him_. He thought it would be different, if Lightning ever showed up again. He thought they would see each other across the dance floor, reunite to some doo-wop kind of thing, hold each other, and sway like that first night. Doc thought he would take Lightning home, rough him up, and get over it. There was no concept of commitment in Doc's mind, there was no possible future. 

And then there was. Then Lightning was sleeping in his bed and it _horrified_ Doc how he could do those things now. How he had grown so fast-- how the world made him grow up so fast. He always wanted to ask about the year Lightning spent apart from him, but Lightning seemed to avoid thinking about it as much as possible, and Doc knew a thing or two about buried pasts. There were new scars in places Doc could've sworn he hadn't felt them before. There were ways bones had set and hadn't healed, but Doc couldn't face his own shit, there was no way he was going to talk to Lightning about his. 

Ah, and then that car ride. Lightning being so impatient. Doc nearly fell apart then. Doc nearly lost his mind. He could still remember the way Lightning looked as he came all over the backseat, and then later all over the sheets. Doc remembered getting the stains out. _Dumb fucking kid_ , he thought, and then, as expected, thought of Lightning when he jerked off in the shower. 

He felt unraveled, unsure where the road was taking him. But Lightning, in all his glory, in all his memories, was right next to Doc, curled up against the passenger's door like a stray cat. It was alright for Doc to not know. It would've been alright if he had crashed right then, gone out like James Dean, or hung on by a thread like Monty Cliff-- As long as Lightning was there by his side, willing to dig the teeth out of his throat.

Lightning woke up a couple hours later, groggy, spit-sticked to his own hand. He looked around like he had expected to be there by now. Doc turned the radio lower, calm and easy. It was easier in general-- to breathe, to move, to see. Doc felt like he had been gifted a new set of eyes, like he had finally figured out what everything was for. And everything was right next to him, leaning his head against the window, taking in the subtleties of an eastern sky. They had reached hills, were most likely somewhere in Georgia by now, touching the edges of the Smoky Mountains. 

"It's kinda nice out here," Lightning mumbled, his voice lilting from sleep. 

Doc felt like he was passing something down, guiding Lightning through a rite of passage. Lightning turned his head to look at Doc. Their eyes met for a flash of a moment, and Doc grinned, wide and bright, because there was nothing else he could do with Lightning in front of him. He was always a breath of fresh air, the perfect breeze, the platonic sunset. And Doc felt _good_ looking at him. Especially now. The small, twisted part of himself, the shame and the fear and the gnawing perversion-- It was all gone. All that was left was his affection. There was still a part of him that held back from calling it love, and Doc would probably have to shake that loose at some point, but he felt _okay enough_ right now.

He cleared his throat, focusing hard on the road, "Yeah, I used to-- I used to drive through these mountains all the time. Though, the ones farther up North." He could see Lightning's smile in the corner of his eye, then felt a hand wrap around his shoulders. This is what would get Lightning killed-- One misstep. one wrong person. Doc tried very hard to not think about it.

He laid his head on Doc's shoulder, hand now on the base of Doc's neck. And Doc _sank_ into it, let himself enjoy something for once. He loved when Lightning was loud, bouncing around and talking a mile-a-minute, but _this_ side of Lightning, right after waking up, sleepy and affectionate, clinging to Doc-- It was a very close second. If Lightning could enjoy and feel honored to see a side of Doc that no one else had, Doc could be over the moon about getting to see this side of Lightning, the one who couldn't trash talk to save his life, had his eyes half-closed, made small hums in Doc's ear, and pressed a lazy kiss to Doc's neck, more out of a need to claim every part of him than anything else.

"Mind telling me about them?"

It was impossible for him to say no. He wondered if Lightning knew that, the way he tugged on Doc's heart and lungs so easily. He breathed in. "I was real young the first time I went through them, and all I remember is feeling so-- Small. Feelin' like I didn't have a place in the world." Doc felt like he was tripping over his words, awkward and unrehearsed, nothing like the words Lightning had perched under his chin. "I slept most of the rest of the way."

"Was it a family trip or somethin'?"

Doc gnawed on his bottom lip, "Yeah. Family trip."

Lightning seemed to understand his tone. He went quiet for a moment, but in true McQueen fashion, plowed ahead anyway. "You don't talk much about your family."

Doc shook his head very lightly, sucked on his tooth, pursed his lips, didn't say a word.

"You could. If you wanted to. Not pushing, swear."

"Do you wanna hear about them?" Doc asked, extremely aware of his own heartbeat, his own breathing.

"I wouldn't mind, is all I'm saying. I wouldn't mind listening."

Leave it to Lightning to pull everything up, even after Doc thought he was done opening doors, was done trying to sort anything. Leave it to Lightning to find some stray crack, some stray lock, and to try and pry it open. No, he wasn't prying. He wasn't trying to anyway. He didn't know.

Doc was too old for this sort of baggage anyway. It should've been less of a sore wound and more of an itching scar, it should've been healed twice over, drowned along with his liver. Maybe because it was Lighting asking, or because he was already sore from thinking about him, from sorting through memories with him. 

Doc shrugged, "Dunno what there is to say. Dad was a miserable sort of drunk. Ma was miserable without a drink. Then they got a fairy for a son."

The silence that passed between them was deadly. Doc reached for the radio, but Lightning grabbed his hand, intertwined it with his, brought them back to the seat between them. It was moments like these where Doc felt the most like a burden, like a coalescence of bad memories. Lightning pressed into his side, running his thumb over the back of Doc's hand. Lightning didn't act like Doc was a burden, didn't see him for what he truly was. Doc wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

"Never knew my dad," Lightning said, quiet, like an offering, "Not really, anyway. Saw him one time between the shutters of my closet door. Hands over my ears." Doc could feel his pulse pick up. "My mom is... Well, I think she just wanted to protect me. Didn't know how. She's been through a lot, y'know."

Doc's tongue felt too big for his mouth. He felt too big, too much, taking up too much space with too little to offer Lightning in return. He started to think that Lightning wasn't saying these things with ease, that they came out almost involuntarily, like his skin would start breaking down if he didn't. "She really didn't like it when I stopped goin' to school, but there wasn't much she could do, so," he shrugged. They were passing through trees now, bright shades of orange and yellow, meeting the early morning light. Lightning set his eyes out the window and kept them there. "She found me with one of the jocks," cracked a smile despite himself, "Wasn't too bad for him. No one wanted to believe he was a queer, so all of that... /hate/-- It got passed to me, or pushed on me, or whatever. Got thrown out of the house in a couple days after a pretty bad fight with my mom. Kinda think I could've left quieter." He laughed, but it dropped at the end. He dipped his head for a moment, bringing it back up the next. "I told Sally I was leaving, she was really bent out of shape over the whole thing. And I guess the rest is history."

Doc felt an urge to pull over, find some way to soothe the wounds Lightning was opening right in front of him. He knew he hated talking about it, had nightmares about things going differently. And Doc had nothing to give back. There were some doors that he knew would remain shut for the rest of his life. Lightning sighed, wrapped both his arms around Doc's bicep, and leaned against him fully. His head wasn't entirely clear, Doc knew, and Lightning would probably only be this clingy after waking up, but his mind couldn't help but wander in the direction of having a boy like this, unapologetic, willing to throw everything to the wind if it meant he got what he wanted, having him wrapped around his arm indefinitely. He couldn't help but think about a future, maybe not one with wedding cake and bells, but with a small, quiet town, a few people willing to look the other way, a small house, some open windows.

They kept the radio low, Lightning kept himself close to Doc. He didn't ask any other questions, but he was listening, Doc knew. If Doc ever felt the urge to unlock any of those doors, which he never would, he would have someone to turn to.

"We could do this forever, y'know," Lightning eyes closed, sunlight covering his face, "Drive around, stay in hotels. Lose everyone."

Doc should've thought that was a terrible idea. But he didn't. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting schedule weird whoops, but chapter three!!! hope you enjoyed it!!!! second to last chapter and then this baby is finished! 
> 
> as always thanks to rach who's been really really supportive of my writing and all that <3 and feel free to leave comments and kudos! <3<3


	4. Chapter 4

When Lightning woke up again, having fallen asleep with his face awkwardly pressed against Doc's arm, it was nearing afternoon and Doc was pulling smoothly into a rest stop. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, the car off and the only sound being their breathing. It was comfortable-- Lightning was wrapped around him, perfect visible, anyone able to cast their eyes on them. And it was  _ comfortable _ . Lightning couldn't remember the way fear used to burrow inside him.

Doc turned his head. careful to keep the rest of his body still. "Kid, you awake?"

Lightning didn't move, did his best impression of being dead asleep. Doc inhaled through his nose, sharply out his mouth. His hands were warm, rough on his arms as he slowly pulled Lightning off of him and he did his best to make his body both easy to move and completely weighed down by gravity. He figured he did a pretty good job because Doc didn't call him on his bluff. Doc left; Lightning opened a single eye, then both of them. 

He didn't know how far away they were from Thomasville-- frankly, he didn't know how Doc has any sense of where they were. He chalked it up to a weird old man thing. There weren't many cars parked outside the shoddy little stop, weren't many people going in and out. Lightning recognized the fear in his stomach again, a never-fully-dying light. There was something wrong with this place. 

Lightning could see Doc through the window, felt a pang of possessiveness-- which was so ridiculous Lightning could've evaporated right there in the parking lot. He and the clerk talked for just a bit too long, the clerk took a glance at the car, made eye contact with Lightning, narrowed his eyes just barely, the only tell being a small twitch. 

_ They had to get out of here.  _

Lightning's leg shook up and down against the floorboard, his hands laid flat against the fabric of the seats. He had seen that look in someone's eye before not six months ago-- He didn't know how Doc couldn't see it. He didn't know how Doc was able to stand there and politely wait for his change. 

Doc walked out, made it back to the car, locked the doors once they were shut. He didn't say a word, but his eyes met Lightning's and held an answer, one Lightning couldn't fully parse. A calm  _ I know _ , not much else when Lightning was threatening to burst his casing. He turned, sitting properly in his seat, hands neatly folded in his lap. They pulled out of the parking lot and drove away. 

The silence stretched itself thin between the two of them. Lightning was reminded of long, hushed car rides with his mom-- running errands, driving to school. He was reminded of the way he would stare out the window without really seeing anything, how his arms and legs would be so tense that by the time they arrived wherever they were going, they would be numb. It wasn't her fault, not really, Lightning walked on eggshells  _ just in case _ . Just in case his mom was having a bad day, just in case her head was full with the shadows of her past. It was a kindness, a very simple one.

Lightning hadn't thought about that in a while. He hadn't thought much about either of his parents for a while. It was the only surefire way to keep himself from crashing, from wanting to start running again. 

"On good days," Doc said, "if I'm polite enough, calm enough-- Nothing comes of it. The worst people will always have their assumptions. If I don't bring it up, they usually don't do anything. They can't prove it, and they don't wanna risk it."

Lightning looked him up and down, studying the still expression on his face, the steadiness in his hand, and the small waver in his voice. "What happens on bad days?"

"Well. I get into a rumble. And I usually win."

Lightning nodded, moving closer and leaning into Doc again. It was a relief, to be so close to him. "Been there," he said quietly, like maybe if Doc didn't hear it, Lightning could pretend it was just a story, that he was passive and impartial to all of it. If Doc  _ did  _ hear, he didn't say anything about it. 

"Well. I get into a rumble. And I usually win."

Lightning nodded, moving closer and leaning into Doc again. It was a relief, to be so close to him. "Been there," he said quietly, like maybe if Doc didn't hear it, Lightning could pretend it was just a story, that he was passive and impartial to all of it. If Doc  _ did  _ hear, he didn't say anything about it. 

One of them turned the volume up at some point, and Lightning, bathing in Doc's warmth, drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. When the car stopped again, it felt as though only a few moments had passed, but the sun was high and clear. The air was crisp, bordering on cold but ultimately indecisive. Lightning felt it first when Doc opened the door and left it open as he got out. He stood like there were landmines buried under the torn gravel of the makeshift parking lot, like the effort from standing might just kill him.

The building they were in front of was a ramshackle sort of bar, the kind you see on outskirts and in Westerns, the kind that looked more like a house than a bar, the only thing giving it away as such was a grounded canopy of an entrance and a small sign advertising happy hour. The sign was rusted, the neon was shoddy, the walls were near caving in, chipped paint, dingy roof. Potholes filled with autumn rain littered the paved space around the building, dying trees framed it

Doc obviously knew it well, looked at it with a sense of familiarity. LIghtning felt like he was glimpsing into a photograph, staring as browning edges of a time he knew nothing about. He looked over his shoulder at Lightning, a small, disbelieving smile on his face. This was his home. Lightning could see it clear as day. Lightning had been kicking cans outside of Mississippi bars, sneaking in and bumming cigarettes, and thirty years before, this was where Doc did the same thing. This was where Doc had found himself. Lightning was looking at a second class relic.

Doc waved him out of the car, and they walked across the parking lot close enough for their hands to brush against each other, close enough to feel the impression of each other's bodies but not close enough to revel in it. They carried a secret in a shared basket. Doc walked in a step again of Lightning, but held the door open. 

Everyone inside snapped their heads towards the door. Someone in the back cleared their throat. It was a crowd of older men and a few women, all of them in denim jeans and gingham flannel, a good amount of them in cowboy or work boots. The men puffed their chests, the women squared their shoulders, and Lightning had a vague sense that he had seen this in a movie somewhere, or maybe read about it in a book-- And he wasn't exactly scared. He felt like he was playing a part. 

"Looks like we got company," one of the men said, beer belly and a dark gray mustache. He stood tall and broad, similar in some underlying way to Doc himself. Lightning took half a step back, hiding behind Doc.

A smile cracked across the man's face. He opened his arms wide-- "Good to see you, Hud." 

Doc returned the smile easily, met the man in the middle with a solid hug. A cautious twitch of a smile sprang to Lightning's lips as the people gathered in the bar started wishing Doc a warm welcome. 

"Never thought I'd see you again, boy," someone said from a booth.

"Went off to some Mississippi town and never came back," another one.

"Heard you got a protege, though." 

Doc laughed, quick and breath, shuffled his feet a bit and all of a sudden he was twenty years old, shy in front of the town that knew him the best, a bit quiet, a bit more flushed than he normally was-- Lightning had never seen him so much at the mercy of others. 

"I'm assuming that's this boy here," Smokey said, his eyes tracking Lightning up and down, his thumbs in his belt loops. "Why don't y'all come sit down? I'll set you up with drinks."

Doc accepted immediately, knowing exactly where to go. Lightning followed behind. It wasn't very cramped, wasn't very loud. Most everyone had returned to their own groups with some few standing and clapping Doc on the shoulder as they made their way to the back, calling him  _ boy  _ and  _ kid _ just like Doc called Lightning. It was funny in a way that made Lightning incredibly nostalgic for a time he never had. 

Smokey brought them beers once they were settled in their little rundown booth, dark wood table and squeaky upholstery. Lightning hadn't had beer in a while, he realized, he hadn't been to  _ his _ bar in a long time. He wondered how Doc got from here to there, how his journey was so opposite to Lightning's but fundamentally the same, two mirrors pointed at each other. 

The afternoon turned quickly into evening, filled with cigarette smoke and a seemingly infinite amount of pints. More people joined their table, racers in Doc's time, all of them exchanging stories while Lightning leaned on Doc's shoulder, eyes half-closed, letting the voices wash over him under flickering and dim lights. None of them asked too many questions about Lightning-- They didn't seem the type to ask many questions at all, but at some point, hours in, after Lightning was both thoroughly loosened from beer and thinking about the nights he spent dancing with Flo and Ramone, how he felt so completely himself there, how he felt safer than he ever had at home-- Smokey asked, "Doc says you were a fan before y'all met. That what made you wanna train under him?"

Lightning peeled himself away from Doc, sat back against his seat with a soft inhale, "Mm, yeah, getting taught by my idol 'n all." He grinned. "But I didn't really see Doc as the Hornet anymore, y'know, had already gotten to know him."

There were smiled exchanged between various people at the table. One, a woman who sat with spread legs and frizzy hair, took a long drink from her beer, a knowing look on her face. Lightning went red. It seemed they all knew Doc pretty well too. And Lightning thought that would make Doc push him away, act scared, withdraw for the next couple of days, but Doc wrapped his arm around Lightning, pulled him close by his waist. His eyes were downcast but clearly not  _ worried _ , not like at the rest stop; there was no stiffness to him. 

"And that was what? Spring, yeah? That's when his letters started coming in, early Spring."

Doc inhaled, "We don't needa talk about that, Smokey--"

"Letters?" Lightning asked

" _ Long _ letters," he laughed, "And postcards, some with little newspaper clippings. Surprised you got in the paper this early in your career, I gotta say."

"Wait-- Letters about  _ me _ ?" He looked at Doc and then back to Smokey who was beyond amused, "I never knew--"

"Didn't need to know," Doc said, gnawing at his bottom lip.

Lightning grinned, "Never knew you looked up to me so much, old man. Always act like I don't know what I'm doing."

"You usually don't," he huffed.

"Not what I got," Smokey said, "Thought Lightning hung the moon and invented sliced bread from the way you wrote about him."

Doc opened his mouth but didn't say anything, instead turning to his drink while the people gathered around the table jabbed each other in the ribs, laughing and cracking jokes, none of them mean-spirited, none of the  _ othering _ , just making good fun of someone they were obviously protective of. 

And Doc completely melted under the pressure. His face was pink, and Lightning didn't think he had ever seen him so embarrassed. He leaned against his shoulder again, his smile widening as his eyes closed. "Y'know, I think that's real sweet of you.  _ Writing _ about me. Didn't know you could be so sweet."

Doc grumbled in response, squeezing Lightning's side. 

He quickly lost track of time after that, but somewhere along the night, he got up to stretch his legs, breathe in air that wasn't dripping in smoke and booze-- not that he was opposed to it. Smokey and Doc had switched to liquor and Lightning had learned that Doc was  _ very _ affectionate the more he drank, starting grabbing his thigh under the table, drawing up across the small of his back, grabbing his ass. Lightning, being extremely talented, was able to retain a straight face, but  _ jesus _ it was gonna drive him insane. He kept thinking about leading him back to the bathroom, seeing how affectionate he could get him to be, and even though it wouldn't be their first time, it would feel like it. The first time since the night they had tried to and couldn't forget. Lightning needed fresh air. 

He stood a little ways from the entrance, looking up at the sky. In tiny towns like this, the stars twinkled so brightly. The moon looked so bright. The air was cool at night, thin in a way it wasn't the farther south you went. Lightning breathed in slowly, eyes closed, exhaled slower, felt his shoes on the gravel, heard the whispering of the leaves, the soft buzz of crickets. A phantom limb of Doc's was holding him, phasing from his shoulder to his waist. He knew the way Doc's fingers laid whenever they were on Lightning, knew the way he tensed and relaxed, the way he pulled Lightning closer. 

"Bet you two have had some fun times together. Y'all like being around each other." A voice, gruff, made its way through the dark.

Lightning turned and Smokey was hobbling his way over to him, hands situating a trucker hat on his head. He had a warm look in his eye, some pronounced wrinkles around them. "Gotta say, seeing how young you were, I thought Hud had a few screws loose. Thought he was gettin' more obviously desperate as he got older. Shoulda known better with how stubborn he is." He laughed, a deep sort of smoker's laugh, and stood right by Lightning, looking up at the sky with him, his arms crossed over his broad chest. 

"Haven't known Doc to be desperate for much." 

"Haven't known him very long, hm?" He gave Lightning a look. Lightning looked back up at the stars. The clouds were covering the moon now, like a piece of cotton stretched over a flashlight. Smokey clicked his tongue casually, "Y'wanna know somethin'?" He asked, didn't wait for a reply, "I don't think I've ever seen him that relaxed around a boy before. Never seen him quite that happy. Always looking over his shoulder, Hud, even when he's around friends."

"Hard to know who your friends are," Lightning replied, a cool tone on his tongue. 

"Yeah. Well. In any case... A friend of Hud's is a friend of mine. Even if they're some backwoods Mississippi punk." He cracked a smile as their eyes met, and Lightning couldn't help but return it despite the comment tacked on the end of it. If this was the company he wound up keeping, he would be set for life. 

\--

All Doc could make out, in the swirl of alcohol and low-swinging jazz, was a sense of peace he hadn't had in a long while. Sure, he felt  _ good  _ around Lightning when he didn't feel like absolute shit. Sure, when they were alone and he wasn't knee-deep in all sorts of self-loathing, the kind that was thankfully lifting, he felt good. But he knew it was one wrong turn and they would be crashing off a cliff. One wrong look, one wrong touch, one wrong comment in front of one wrong person and they were smeared on cement. 

_ Here _ in Thomasville, in this bar where everyone knew him, and wanted him around, and didn't care about his proclivities, his tendencies, as long as he wasn't being stupid and wasn't hurting anyone-- combined with Lightning, the beautiful product of hard-knocks and a tender heart-- Doc felt more than peaceful. He felt happy. Even when Smokey (old and graying just like Doc) was pushing his buttons, even when he was blushing like a schoolboy-- He was home.

Louise offered her place for the night at the end of drinking, but Doc couldn't stop thinking about being alone with Lightning, feeling like he was full of light, like he finally knew what all of this had been for, he couldn't imagine having anyone overhear him this drunk and this headfirst in infatuation. He quickly declined, opted for the motel a little outside of town. Lightning drove, somehow more lucid than he was, and in a blur, they were in their room, the car ride nothing but a quick, dark memory.

Doc lilted to their room, carrying their bags and by some miracle not dropping them while Lightning unlocked the door. He wasn't a sloppy drunk, not quite, but he misplaced himself, he stopped caring so much, stopped being so tightly wound. Lightning clearly found amusement in that, grinning like he'd just watched Buster Keaton spectacularly fall for the hundredth time. Lightning was bobbing slightly, obviously buzzed, but not quite as drunk as Doc would've expected, being the fast and loud racer he was. 

Lightning took one of the bags once the door was open, dropped it on the floor next to the singular bed. Doc dropped the second bag nearby. Doc realized that this was the first time they were alone in a room since the hotel, since they fell asleep entangled, since Doc had seen Lightning jack off in front of him. The reality of it didn't seem to hit him, but the image of Lightning, flushed, shy, head tilted back-- it became pure impetus for Doc. 

He sat on the foot of the bed, cheap motel comforter underneath him. Lightning followed him like he was attached on strings, stood in front of him for a moment-- Doc taking the opportunity to hold his waist-- and then straddled his lap, chests not quite pressed together, mouths not quite near enough. Inches apart. Never touching. 

Doc went slow, because there was no other way to enjoy Lightning-- Go too fast and you miss all the ways he gives himself over in small expressions, small touches, the way he melts apart instead of falls. Doc's hands floated under his shirt, seemingly outside of himself and deeply within himself. He felt as though he were on stage, but the audience was himself, the audience was the shadow that had followed him his whole life, the audience was looming. He pulled Lightning closer, hips locking together, the curve of both their stomachs, chests, shoulders, finding grooves within the other's, ways of settling together. 

Lightning had the soft and expectant expression of waiting, finally getting what he had wanted. A pale sort of fear sat at the bottom of Doc's gut, weak, nagging. The booze drowned it out. 

Doc's held Lightning's face in his hands, felt the slope of his jaw as it led to his ear, to his neck. Felt the muscles there, tense and lovely. Doc pushed his hair out of his face, ran his thumb over Lightning's forehead like a sacrament, a confirmation. He pressed a kiss there, delicate, fading around the edges, and Lightning closed his eyes, accepted it as easily as communion, a blessing. Lightning held Doc's arms, fingers wrapped around his bicep as comfortably as he held the wheel. 

"Are you gonna remember this time?"

"I could never forget. This time or any other."

Lightning guided them backwards, and he felt more air than mass, like a spirit barely even touching Doc. An impression of watercolor as opposed to a portrait of oil. The sides of his fingers brushing over Doc's cheekbones, his hands on the small of Lightning's back-- Everything seemed to shift, to phase in and out, and Doc wasn't quite sure if any of it was real, if he was laying down or sitting up, in a motel or at home. Lightning pushed forward, his mouth landing at the corner of Doc's, then consuming him entirely. 

It would always be an impossible, forever fleeting type of feeling to kiss Lightning. Doc thought about sewing their lips together, bloody and raw, having them meld into each other until there was no difference between kissing him and breathing. He thought about the skin of his palms peeling away as he touched Lightning, layer after layer until he was just crackling bone. 

"You acted like you forgot." His breathing had picked up, his heart drumming hard, his hands shaking. It was a wonder that this is what got Lightning nervous. 

"I lost myself." Doc kissed his shoulder, "And it just took a while to find myself again, or someone close to myself, anyway. I never forgot."

Lightning looked him in the eye, his face calm and loving. And that made sense-- Lightning did say he loved him. "Tell me who you are, then, Doc. Tell me what you found."

Doc smiled. His tongue was looser than it had been in ages. "In a dark, damp corner, I found someone scared. I found someone bitter over their losses, blinded by their blessings."

"And what'd you do with them?"

Doc slipped his hands under the front of Lightning's shirt, across his ribs, up to his chest. Lightning's skin was satin. "I kicked them out. Made room for someone else." Doc pulled him forward by his shirt into another connection. 

They moved together after that, perfect harmony, a tide and his beach. Lightning's hand shook less than it had before as he undid Doc's belt, his tongue more confident as it traced over the rises and falls of Doc's torso, then stomach. Doc's hands were in his hair by the time Lightning's mouth was wrapped around his cock, spit pooling under his navel, Lightning on his knees.

He was so sweet with his movements, looking up at Doc the whole time. Doc wanted to kiss him, made a mental note to not let him swallow until he  _ had _ kissed him, until he had tasted the way his spit mixed with come. "Precious boy," Doc whispered, barely aware that he was saying it.

Lightning's hips rutted forward, his eyes fluttering closed. Doc's grip tightened, a breathy sort of moan escaping him. He was nothing but sensation, nothing but feeling. Drilled down to his essence, broken down to his core-- Lightning was adept at unraveling him, even if he didn't realize it. So much time spent thinking about Lightning, about what he actually wanted from him, about what he pictured their life being like if they were ever together, about boys that looked like him, felt like him, kissed nothing like him-- Doc just wanted this. He wanted to be unraveled, wanted someone he could trust to unravel him-- Wanted Lightning to do the unraveling. Because he knew that if he wound up hurt, left crumbling in the dust, he could at least cherish the memory of being broken down.

And he reveled in imagining a future. At least right now, at least with alcohol in his system and Lightning finding infinite ways to make Doc call his name, he could imagine a lifetime of this. He could imagine a life sewn into Lightning's side, hands in sweat-soaked hair, hands under his shirt. 

Doc came before he expected to, eyes closed, panting. He grabbed Lightning's face immediately, lept forward with an open mouth. There was a sweetness and a bitterness, a muffled choke, a consumed moan. Lightning pushed him back, reclaiming his place in Doc's lap, now rutting, whispering. Doc unbuttoned his jeans with certainty, clarity, wrapped his hand around his cock, let him move into it. His thrusts were hard, fast, and Doc was grateful he would have time to teach him how to go slower, how to draw these things out-- But for now, it was enough just to feel the way he moved. to feel the swing of his hips. 

A boy who loves boys, a man who loves a cocky rookie-- beautiful both on the track and off-- is a dead man. He is rotted from the inside-out, stained with wickedness, doomed to sin. Doc would never have a life free from this, from himself, from his desire, from his rotting. But he could spend nights finding all the sounds Lightning could make as he came. He could spend his days in his little house teaching Lightning how to drift on dirt, how to fix an engine, how to do his bed. He could hold his waist as he made eggs in the morning, could shut all the blinds and kiss him on his couch. He could have the things he wanted, rotted as they were. 

\--

The next day Doc took him to some train tracks behind a field. He said he used to go there when he was younger, would throw rocks at the train cars, drink beer by himself, smoke too many cigarettes. Lightning could imagine a young Doc, someone who went by 'Hud', was barely breaking his way into his career, held too much gnawing anger and hurt in his chest to ever share his space. It was a complete stranger. 

They walked through some woods, trudged across some rocks Doc swore used to be a crick. "Back when the town was younger and you couldn't get stamps anywhere," he mumbled, mostly to himself, nearly breaking his ankle on his next step. 

"Hard to think about any of this being younger and still being what it is." Lightning said, getting very good at not laughing at him. 

Doc took his hand once he was across, helped him navigate the last few steps like some princely romantic interest straight out of Austen, and didn't let go once they were both on the other side. 

Hands intertwined, they walked the last couple dozen feet down a hill, through some last patch of trees to see two sets of tracks atop stark white rocks, and a little cement platform in front of them. The trees hid most everything, forming a barrier between this space and the one before. Lightning could see why it felt so safe here. Doc walked ahead and sat down, the sun shining on him, welcoming him back. Lightning joined him. 

"I always thought I'd come back here someday, somehow. Wasn't sure when." 

Lightning looked at him, his face in profile staring at the rusting train cars. It dawned on him what this all meant, Doc taking him here. It was almost a promise, definitely a gift. It was a confirmation of what Lightning meant to him now, an admission. He rested his head on Doc's shoulder. "I think it was waiting for you."

Doc wrapped his arm around Lightning's waist, the other holding their weight up. "For us, I'd like to think. Knew I'd come back with someone."

Lightning grinned, closed his eyes. There was nothing else he could've asked for in that moment. Piston cups felt like a cheap party favor compared to this. Pulling in front of everyone in the last lap, winning by seven whole seconds-- Nothing matched the purity of fulfillment Lightning felt. After the night they had, after the promises, after the waking up together without a hint of shame or denial, Lightning couldn't ever ask for anything else. 

They home soon after, Winter approaching quickly. Before long, Doc and Lightning were sleeping in under the duvet Doc had taken out of storage. It had these long, reaching flowers on it, small reminders of Spring, which Lightning would trace with his index finger as he waited for Doc to wake up. Lightning had gotten pretty good at making pancakes even when he was a little groggy and a little flushed from the way Doc held his hips as he flipped them. He got pretty good at chopping the wood for their evening fires too, something which Doc loved to watch him do. 

They didn't talk to their neighbors, they didn't fuel any rumors-- They had heard the ones going around about them. They kept their blinds closed, their doors locked-- They kept the house the sacred place it was, and only occasionally, when the stars aligned, they would go down to their bar where no one cared about any sort of rumor, and they would dance to all the slow songs. They seemed to have eternity in their hands whenever they were together. They never stumbled or stepped on each other's feet, except for when they did, which were fleeting and unimportant. 

In that little house, in that little town, with all their traumas and all their hurt that was so tightly wrapped within themselves, they managed to keep each other. And it was more than enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks! hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it
> 
> feel free to leave kudos, comments, etc.!! <3 thank you so much for reading

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii!!!! i've been totally and completely ruined by docmcqueen so i was compelled to write more. another four chapters with a lot of lightning and doc simply.... thinking about one another. once again dedicated to Phoenix and Rachel for being the impetus behind this work <3  
> and not to get emotional or anything but if you put these four chapters with the four chapters from the first part, you get 35k words and like... 100 pages. a small book. a small book. love that. :,)
> 
> hope yall enjoy! feel free to leave kudos and comments!! i love reading what yall think <3


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